


You Belong With Me

by ashisfriendly



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 15:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3773770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/pseuds/ashisfriendly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school!AU. Leslie's tired of not being with Ben so she's going to do something about it. Someone on tumblr left me this prompt: <i>i'm listening to you belong with me by taylor swift and i think u should write a ben/leslie fic based on the song</i> and now here we are. Thanks to c00kie for the beta!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong With Me

They’re fighting and it’s one of those fights that is very public without being loud. It starts with small quips but then eyes start rolling and then there are sighs. She sighs, he sighs. At some point she pushes off of the couch they’re sharing in Andy’s basement and taps his shoulder, which means he should follow her somewhere more private so they can continue the fight without involving everyone. But everyone is already involved, everyone already knows, because this is par for the course.

Ben gets up, but before he turns around to follow Cindy out of the room, he looks at Leslie. Leslie is watching them, of course, somehow it has become her full time job to watch them, and her eyes drift up to meet his across the room. His shoulders fall and he tilts his head, eyes rolling just a little in a way that shouts, “Not again.”

Leslie does her usual act. She shrugs and rolls her eyes, too, shaking her head with added sympathy. Poor Ben, has to deal with his beautiful girlfriend yet again. Poor Ben, has to fix another nameless problem, defend his music choices, and school club activities to her again. Poor Ben, has to make up with Cindy and roll around in the back seat of her parents’ car. Poor Ben, when he’s unhappy with her, at least he has Leslie to help him feel better.

He leaves and Leslie looks down in her cup. It’s just pop but she kind of wishes it was alcohol. Alcohol is available at this get together, but alcohol probably isn’t a good idea.

Ann nudges her, letting her shoulder rest against hers and leaning her head on Leslie’s.

“You okay?”

Leslie nods, running her thumb over the rim of her red solo cup.

“He’s a jerk,” Ann says.

Leslie nods again.

“I mean it, Leslie.” Ann is a little drunk, the perfect amount of drunk where she’s full of fierce love and unabashed loyalty. “He is a jerk. Look at me.” Leslie looks at her. Her eyes are dewy and big, beautifully brown. Leslie smiles, her body softening against Ann. “You are the best and the most amazing woman on this planet and you deserve way better than that piece of garbage.”

Leslie smiles, loving the way the word garbage falls out of Ann’s mouth. Leslie sits up straight and nods.

“You’re right, Ann.” Something is welling up inside Leslie’s chest, something that feels like the minutes before she has to start her speech in debate, or how she felt right before student council election results were announced, or the way she feels when she gets back a test but hasn’t seen the grade yet. “I do.”

“Yes!” Ann says, throwing her arms in the air. April looks at them from the papasan chair, peeling nail polish off her finger nails.

“I’m going to tell him to be with me, instead,” Leslie says, like it was the most perfect thought in all of humanity. That feeling is swelling, spreading through her entire body.

“No, no, Leslie no,” Ann says, grabbing Leslie’s arms awkwardly like Leslie will start floating away this instant so she can paint the words, “be with me instead” in the sky.

“What’s happening, you’re both acting weird,” April asks, standing in front of them now, most of her blue nail polish gone.

“Nothing is happening, April,” Ann shouts, panicked.

 

“Lots of things are happening,” Leslie counters, looking forward to the staircase that Ben and Cindy ascended not too long ago.

If this plays out like it usually does, Ben will be back eventually, and he’ll be in a mood. A kind of mood that makes his shoulders stiff and hair messy. He’ll have a drink, maybe, but the most important thing he’ll do is want to talk to Leslie. He’ll spend ten minutes complaining about whatever he and Cindy are fighting about and then she’ll ask him about something he’s working on (Game of Thrones fan fiction, his latest calculous quiz grade, the most current HBO documentary that was released, anything coming up for Model UN), and he’ll deflate and become himself again.

“Are we pranking Jerry?” April asks.

“What? No, of course not,” Leslie says. She looks up at April. “Unless, is something in the works? No, no, not now. Not now!”

“You’re acting weird, why are you acting weird, tell me now.”

“I’m going to tell Ben--”

“She’s going to tell Ben that his shirt is stupid and he’s stupid,” Ann interrupts.

April crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “This is boring. Everyone knows you like Ben, and that he secretly likes you so this is --”

“What?” Leslie grabs April’s arm but she scowls and pulls her arm away and walks back to the papasan chair where Andy is now sitting. She straddles his lap and makes out with him. Leslie turns back to Ann. “You hear that Ann?”

“No, Leslie, no.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a dog!”

"You’re not thinking clearly, Leslie--”

“Hey, sorry.” Ben’s voice startles them both and Ann grabs Leslie’s shoulders protectively. Ben looks between them, a little confused, but focuses back on Leslie with his tired, desperate brownie colored eyes. “I didn’t mean to interrupt--”

Both girls talk at once.

“You’re interrupting nothing.”

“Actually we were talking.”

“I can come back,” Ben offers, his shoulders falling.

“No!” Leslie shouts. She clears her throat and shrugs Ann off of her. “It’s fine, Ann was just telling me about her… surprise party for Jerry and she doesn’t want to spoil anything so I guess she has to stop talking now.” Leslie looks at Ann as she stands, her eyes wide, head nodding, hoping Ann stays quiet.

“Okay,” Ben says, confused.

He follows Leslie back up the stairs. Leslie doesn’t see Cindy. She probably left, she usually does after a fight. This is their group of friends, anyway, Cindy is an outsider in this group, just like Ben is in hers.

They go up the stairs and into Andy’s kitchen where Ben grabs an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter. He hands it to Leslie who uses her longer nails to start the rip in the peel and hands it back as they walk out the back door into Andy’s backyard. Ben peels the rest of the rind away, leaving the pieces on the railing of the deck as he speaks.

“She’s impossible,” he says. “She wants prom to be this big thing but I can’t afford it. She can, but she refuses to pay her own way.” He splits the orange in half and takes off a piece, sticking it in his mouth. “‘Mark is buying _Shauna’s_ ticket and _her_ dress,’” Ben says, imitating Cindy. “Well good for Mark, his dad is rich and Shauna isn’t a bitch.” Ben winces and looks up at Leslie. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Ben sighs, eating another piece of orange. “She’s not a bitch, she’s just… I don’t know, I don’t know why it matters so much. I feel like sometimes she puts the emphasis on the wrong thing. She wants me to buy her prom dress and paint my face at basketball games? What is that? Why does that matter?”

This is where Leslie usually says, “I don’t know,” or “I’m sorry,” or “who knows?”. But not tonight.

“She wants the boyfriend symbol.”

Ben blinks, his mouth slowing as he chews. His lips are glistening with the juice from the orange, pursed and tight as he thinks about what she’s said. It makes Leslie’s body ache.

“What?” he asks, turning to her.

Leslie straightens her back and squares her shoulders, sighing, letting out all of the doubt and Ann’s words of warning through her breath.

“She wants the symbols of your relationship. She wants to be able to point to you at the basketball game and say, ‘That’s my boyfriend.’ She wants to brag about how much you spend on her because that’s how much you like her.” Leslie takes a step toward him. He’s focused on her, but she can see him thinking. “She likes having you around, she likes what you mean. She probably even likes fighting with you, she likes you as an excuse to only flirt enough with other guys.”

“She doesn’t flirt with other guys,” he argues. Leslie tilts her chin down, raising her eyebrows. “...that often.” Ben groans and it’s an unhappy sound, a very frustrated one, but it still makes Leslie’s body tingle with something. He puts the last of his orange down on top of the peel and runs his hands over his face, into his hair. Turning around, he groans again. “I liked her for so long, Leslie.”

The wind gets knocked out of her gut and she feels a hook pull at her chest. He did. He’s been watching her for years, been waiting. When he finally asked her out and she said yes, it was a celebration. But their whole relationship has been like this: a constant mess that Leslie’s been trying to clean off Ben for months. This is what he’s wanted for so long, he finally has it, how is he supposed to give it up?

And Leslie? Leslie has wanted Ben for years, too. She can’t give him up either.

“What am I supposed to do?” Ben asks, turning around.

His hair is a mess from his fingers, eyes wide and pleading. Help me, they scream, make this better, fix it like you always do.

But she can’t, she can’t anymore.

“Be with me.”

She almost thinks she doesn’t say it loud enough because it feels like a dream. She felt it in her throat and her lips moved, but everything is in slow motion, and the sounds of the night are gone now and all she can hear is her own breathing, her own beating heart. Ben takes so long to register this, his face blank and unmoving.

His hand moves first, just his thumb rubbing the pad of his forefinger. Probably rubbing the sticky juice of the orange that is left on his fingers. Then his eyebrows push down and his head tilts and he must be moving faster than she’s seeing but time has slowed for her and she just wants it to speed back up.

“What?”

Leslie blinks and the night comes alive again with his voice. Cars pass by on the other side of the house and the breeze is hitting the windchimes again. A lump has formed in her throat and it’s climbing it’s climbing and squeezing, pushing tears behind her eyes and making her voice shake when she tells him again.

“Be with me.”

Ben’s warm, confused eyes roam over her face, searching. They travel down her body, still clueless and lost, and travel back up again as if he’s never seen her before. Her chest is ripping open and she can feel the tears trying not to spill but when she blinks, two fall. She shakes out her knees as if it will make them stop but it doesn’t work. She finally removes her eyes from his stupid, angular, confused face and looks to the sky. The stars are bright. She wipes her fingers under her eyes and takes a breath.

“Well, I said what you should do,” Leslie says, shrugging. She doesn’t even care anymore that her voice is shaking. She starts for the door, defeated. Stupid. Ann was right, she’s always right, the smartest of all land mermaids.

“Wait.”

She stops even though she shouldn’t. She doesn’t want to hear how she’s a really great friend or how they should still be friends, or how much he appreciates her. That’s not what she wants. Eventually, she’ll come to terms with this and need him in her life again and will pretend nothing happened, but she doesn’t want to rip her heart anymore tonight.

Later, just later, please.

She turns around. He hasn’t moved.

“Come here,” he says.

She should keep going. But his hand is out to her and he’s looking at her with something more curious than confusion and she doesn’t tell herself to walk toward him, she’s just doing it.

When she’s standing in front of him, he smooths her hair back, wiping his thumbs across her cheeks, eyes roaming her face. His gaze falls to her mouth so many times she is starting to think he’s trying to make sure he doesn’t lose it. Like if he looks at her hairline too much her mouth will disappear, or if he looks at her nose for too long, he won’t be able to find his way back to her lips.

His fingers trail down to her neck and into her hair. She closes her eyes and hums. Ben moves closer to her, his hands moving back to the front of her throat and sliding into her hair again.

“You’re so little,” Ben whispers, almost like he’s just realized this about her. Leslie’s skin tingles, her eyes fluttering open. He leans his head down, their foreheads almost touching. “And soft.” His fingers tighten in her hair.

Leslie reaches out for his shirt to hold on to because standing is suddenly very difficult.

He moves one hand over her jaw and his thumb rubs along her bottom lip. She can smell the citrus from his fingers. He pushes her lip down and his eyes watch her mouth with great intensity. She closes her eyes; it’s too much. He rubs her lip again and pushes it down and just as his thumb slips from her mouth, his lips take its place.

It’s the slowest, lightest kiss she’s ever had. His lips are still on hers for so long, his fingers tight in her hair, his other hand gentle on her cheek. He rubs his thumb over her chin just as his lips move. They move painfully slow. She sighs and he moves in closer, pushing down on her chin to help his lips open her mouth and then his tongue is exploring her, just as slow, just as soft as his lips.

The taste of oranges is almost overwhelming. Leslie always imagined he’d taste like snickerdoodles or mac and cheese (what he always eats at her house) or Pepsi (he always has one at lunch) or peppermint gum (his favorite). But the orange is welcome, sweet and fresh, sweeping along her tongue and over her lips. She can’t taste a drop of alcohol.

Her skin is buzzing and everything inside her is softly humming. She holds onto his shirt as he slowly kisses her, pushing her mouth open and gently sucking on her lip before he tilts his head the other way, brushing her nose with his as he goes.

His thorough and calm pace seems to last forever. It envelopes her and wraps her in a fuzzy cloud where thoughts can’t piece themselves together and things like remembering every state capital or the current US president are suddenly unimportant.

Leslie has no idea what this means. His hands haven’t tightened against her, he hasn’t made a sound. He’s slow and steady, unchanging and perfectly calculated. She’d push forward or question him, but she can’t seem to do anything but take.

Ben settles both hands on the sides of her neck, steadying his hold on her. He pulls away, only a little, before kissing her a few times on her lips. They aren’t quick kisses but they don’t necessarily linger -- there long enough to leave sparks on her lips but too quick to taste them on her tongue.

When he pulls away, his hands stay in her hair and her chest is on fire. She’s afraid to open her eyes; so afraid that she squeezes them tight.

One of Ben’s thumbs rubs underneath her earlobe and she turns into it like a cat. He inhales and she feels the exhale on her face. Oranges.

His hands move to her face, his thumbs running just underneath her eyelashes. She opens her eyes slowly, his face so close to hers that he’s out of focus. His forehead drops to hers and his hands move again. They move back down her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms, over her torso and hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps and electricity.

The next kiss is sudden, almost a surprise except his nose bumps hers on the way. It’s a soft kiss, too quick, she almost thinks it’s cautious. She moves forward for more but he holds onto her tighter, making her stop.

“I didn’t see,” Ben says. His voice is clipped and deep. “I didn’t know I--fuck, I wasted so much time. I’m sorry, Leslie--”

“Ben--”

His mouth is back on hers, but everything is different. He’s rough and hard, his body pressing so hard into hers that she has to take a step back and then another and then another until her back hits the wooden railing. She hears the remains of Ben’s orange fall onto the deck. His hands sneak under her shirt and when he touches the bare skin of her torso, he groans. When his pinky and ring finger smooth under the waistband of her jeans, he whispers something incoherent into her mouth.

Even though this kiss is different, Leslie can still only hold on. She has Ben’s neck, his shirt, his shoulders, and the railing for support, otherwise she can only open her mouth and taste him and hope she can keep from being eaten alive.

His hands are rough over her shirt, along her breasts, back up to cup her face. He guides her forward as he steps back until he sits on the old couch that Andy’s brothers put out here after the snow melted. She’s been with Ben on this couch before, when Mouse Rat played a small set on the grass and when they all skipped school on senior cut day.

Now she’s here, in Ben’s lap, his hands under her shirt, her lips swollen and sore against his mouth, while they both find friction any way they can. Ben stretches the collar of her shirt so he can kiss down her chest and she rakes her fingers through his hair like she’s done it a million times. Leslie holds onto the back of the couch and Ben moans against her collarbone.

He turns them and lays her back along the length of the couch, pushing himself between her legs. He kisses her, keeps kissing her like he’s desperate for her. His hand moves between them and he awkwardly pushes between her jeans and skin until her hips buck up, urging him to move faster.

She feels his fingernails along her skin as he pushes underneath her panties and she gasps, pulling away.

It doesn’t deter him, his lips finding purchase on her cheek and neck, his fingers moving, moving, until --

“Ben,” she breathes.

He gently pushes forward and she gasps, gripping his shoulders.

“Ben, not here.”

Leslie isn’t known for her willpower and by the roll of her hips, she doubts she really has any right now. Her voice is even betraying her, so soft and wobbly, more breath than vocal chords.

He moves slow -- painfully slow -- away, his hand sliding up her stomach until he’s cupping her face again and he kisses her quick and soft.

“Okay, not here,” he whispers, kissing her again. He boops her nose with his. “Where?”

She looks past him into the stars and thinks about how much simpler it would be if they could just be up there, somewhere Ben wouldn’t have to confront Cindy, somewhere Ben wouldn’t have to clarify what is happening between them, somewhere it could just be their bodies and his kiss and the faint smell of citrus and vanilla as their bodies melt into one.

“Somewhere I’m yours.”

He blinks and says, “Okay,” pushing himself off the couch and pulling her with him. He takes her through Andy’s backyard and around to the side yard, through the gate, out to the street.

Ben pulls out his phone and taps the screen, looking up and back down as he goes. At first Leslie thinks he’s looking at directions, but then his phone dings, he types, and it dings again and she realizes he’s texting.

“Wait, what--”

“Shit,” he mumbles. Then the screen goes dark. He looks back at her. “You should turn your phone off, too.”

Her phone buzzes and she looks at it.

_You bitch, you’re nothing--_

Before she can finish reading, Ben snatches it from her hand, pressing the power button until it turns off.

“Ben?”

He stops with a graceless finality. He’s breathing a little hard, she is too. He lets go of her hand and looks around. They’re a few blocks down Andy’s street on the corner. If they keep going they’ll be at the abandoned gas station where Leslie changed Ben’s tire in the middle of the night and if they take the next right and walk for another mile, they will be at the south side of Ramsett Park where she and Ben first met outside school.

But this piece of sidewalk, in front of a dark house with a beat up old truck in the driveway, under a flickering street light doesn’t hold significance. It’s just a small stretch of sidewalk on Jefferson Street.

When he looks back at Leslie, his eyes are shining, the glow flickering with the light above them. He licks his lips and shrugs before grabbing her hands.

“You’re mine,” he says, “here.”

He takes a step backwards, dragging her with him.

“Here.”

He sidesteps off the sidewalk and Leslie fumbles forward. Ben smiles as he holds onto her, pulling her into the street.

“Here.”

They cross the street and when their feet land on the sidewalk he says, “And here.”

She smiles as he leads her down toward Ramsett Park. Every few steps, he reminds her that she’s his again. When he walks behind someone’s garbage can and tells her, “Even right here,” she laughs.

They stop to kiss against a parked car and he tells her again. When they cross the street at Lincoln and K, Leslie pulls back on his arm.

“Here?”

He nods.

After thirty minutes of walking, Ben is still saying it and Leslie should be tired of it, it shouldn’t be making her stomach churn and drop anymore, it shouldn’t be tiring her cheeks from smiling, but it is. Maybe because even though she’s pretty sure Ben dumped Cindy through a text message, and he’s kissed her and his hand keeps squeezing hers, this still feels like a dream. It’s still unreal, practically unbelievable, so no she’s not going to let this bit get old, she’s not going to stop smiling each time he kisses her and tells her, “Here.”

They finally make it to Ramsett Park, taking the cement path that goes around the playground. She touches a tree as they pass it.

“You dumped her over a text.”

“I did,” Ben says.

“That’s the worst way.”

Ben pulls her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they walk off the path, toward a dark patch of trees. “More than being dumped by Dennis’ mom?”

Leslie knocks her hip into him and he stumbles sideways, laughing, before pushing back, turning her so her back hits the trunk of another tree. He kisses her, soft and gentle with only the faint taste of orange. It reminds her of their first kiss, him exploring and her letting him. She does push back this time, though. She wants to explore him too, she wants to feel every inch of him, touch the small trail of hair above the clasp of his jeans, run her fingers over the short buzz on the nape of his neck, touch his jaw and shoulders.

His palms rub into her hips, his fingers pushing against the skin and muscle. Her back arches and she pulls him closer but nothing speeds up, it’s just deeper. He’s flat against her and his hands keep pushing on her hips in slow, hard circles. She moans and arches her back and Ben slides his fingers over the top of her jeans until he’s touching the sensitive skin below her belly button.

Ben’s fingers push against her stomach and smooth under her jeans. He stops and pulls back from their kiss. Leslie whimpers, some sound that is almost childish in its impatience.

He licks his lips and places his forehead on hers, slipping his hand down farther. She gasps.

“Here?” he says.

This time he’s asking her, and he may be clarifying that this very public park, after it’s closed the raccoons will start to venture out of their dens, is an okay place to touch her. But she knows that’s not what he’s asking.

“Yes,” Leslie says and Ben is finally there, right where she wants him. “Here.”

Ben kisses her lips and her cheek before burying his face in her hair to whisper in her ear.

“Everywhere.”


End file.
